


Forgive and Forget

by seductivembrace



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 02:16:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seductivembrace/pseuds/seductivembrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alternate "Hell’s Bells", Xander muses on the mistakes he made with Anya... and with Spike.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgive and Forget

Xander sat at a corner table in the Bronze and nursed his beer. He wanted nothing more than to sink into the oblivion of alcoholic haze, but every time he started to raise his hand and gesture for another drink, something stopped him. 

History repeating itself. 

A false image given to him by a spurned demon. 

Something. 

But, he refused to do it; instead he sat inside the club, stone cold sober. The lone beer he’d asked for was barely drunk and getting warm in his hands.  

He hated himself for what he’d done. Well, not so much _what_ he’d done, but how he’d done it.  

He’d had plenty of opportunities to talk to Anya about calling off the wedding. There’d been the thrice nightly discussion – one-sided, of course – about the most minute detail of the upcoming event.  

Once when he got home from work. 

_“Oh, Xander, what do you think of this tablecloth?”_  

Once right after dinner. 

_“Oh, Xander, look! We can get corsages to match the bridesmaids’ dresses!”_  

Once right after sex. 

_“We’re going to be so happy, Xander. I’ve bought a subscription to Cosmopolitan. We’ll never have to worry about sex becoming boring after we’re married.”_  

So many chances.  

So many chances, and he’d blown them all.  

Instead he’d left her standing, alone, at the altar. Left her to deal with their guests, with his friends. With everything really. He’d just left her, utterly and completely. 

And now he was sitting in the Bronze, the tuxedo he was still wearing mocking him. Calling himself an asshole for taking the easy way out.

For breaking her heart irrevocably.  

“Harris.” 

Xander flinched as his name was called, but otherwise refused to look up at Spike. To see his smirk. To have him say what he was thinking – that he was a bastard for treating Anya the way he had, that he could give Spike a run for his money in the evil department. 

“See you’re off to a good start in getting pissed.” 

It wasn’t what Spike said, but how he said it, that made Xander look up. The smirk was absent, and surprise of surprises, there was compassion in the blue eyes that stared at him intently.  

“Couldn’t do it,” he said, and there was no heat in his words, just resignation.   

“’course not,” Spike replied, as if it’s a given. Another surprise. “You’re not your da, no matter what that demon mighta’ shown ya.” 

And the surprises kept coming.  

One after the other until Xander had to wonder if it was indeed Spike sitting before him and not some alternate dimension replica that didn’t know he was supposed to be evil.  

He said as much at one point and got a self-depreciating laugh… and a half-hearted excuse. 

“Wouldn’t be worth it. You already feel like shite. Anything I say wouldn’t make a difference, now would it?” 

“True.” 

“Could talk to her, you know,” Spike said after some time. “Apologize like.” 

Xander shook his head. “No. She hates me. Can’t say I blame her either.” 

“Never figured you for a coward… the whole altar scene notwithstanding.” 

“Yeah. Well. You don’t know me then, now do you?” 

“Know you? You lot have been a bloody thorn in my bloody side for years. Of course I know you. Xander the Loyal. The one nobody sees.” At Xander’s surprised look, he said, “What? I’m chipped, not blind. Don’t think I don’t recognize your little comedic quips for what they are.” 

“And what’s that, oh wise one?” Xander said snidely. 

Spike just smirked. 

“And that.” 

“And that what? What the hell are you talking about, Spike?” 

“Just that you’re so desperate to prove you’re still part of the group, you play the part that you think will keep you there.” 

“Is there a reason why you’re here, or is this part of my punishment for treating Anya like crap? Somebody make a wish that says I have to listen to you until I’m ready to take a nice stroll in the nearest cemetery?” 

“No. Just thought you could use a friend.” 

“A friend? We aren’t friends, Spike. We—Buffy and the rest of us—tolerate you because, at times, you can be useful. We aren’t friends.” 

Spike quirked his brow and Xander was reminded of times, similar to this, the two of them talking trash over a game of pool, a round of darts. How he would deliberately root for the opposing team when Manchester United was playing, just to piss Spike off. 

He smiled, remembering the vampire’s pout whenever the team happened to lose, and the only way to bring him out of his funk was a round of beer at Willie’s – Xander’s treat – followed by a patrol around Sunnydale’s cemeteries.     

He and Spike _were_ friends. Or had been… until Buffy had come back. He’d dropped Spike like a bad habit, mainly because of his guilt at having resurrected her and not having included Spike in the planning. His guilt had grown exponentially when he’d found out what he’d really done. What _they’d_ really done - him, Willow, Tara, and Anya. Buffy’s friends. 

Some friends they’d turned out to be. 

“I’m sorry,” Xander said after an indeterminable amount of silence. He wasn’t quite sure what he was apologizing for. Everything, probably.  

Spike shrugged, and it could have meant anything.  

Xander offered an olive branch. “Wanna play a game of pool? My treat.” 

“Could do.” 

Xander stood and headed towards the pool tables. 

When he’d gone to the Bronze, the last thing he’d ever figured on happening was him and Spike playing pool together, trading good-natured barbs as one game became two then became ten, until they were closing the place down. 

Outside the club, Spike fell into step with Xander.  

“Walk you home, Harris. Worse things about than an angry ex-vengeance demon.”  

“Thanks.” 

The “what are friends for” hung silently between them and Xander chuckled. After his stunt today, he wasn’t sure how many of those he was going to have left. 

The walk was made in silence; Spike didn’t speak again until Xander had opened the door and made to go inside.  

“Still say you should talk to her.” 

Xander nodded, said, “Yeah.” 

Spike turned and walked away. He was halfway down the hall when Xander’s offer to hang at his place – beer, pizza, cable – tomorrow night rang out.  

“Be by after sunset.” 

“Great! I mean cool. See ya then.” 

Xander shut the door and smiled, feeling better about himself for the first time all evening. 

The End


End file.
